The Brigadier's Daughter

by Catherine March

  He hurried to dress, vowing that he would deal with Sasha later. He had an important meeting this morning with Sir Stanley and he had no time to wrestle with the problems of a wife who would not be a wife until there was a marriage.

  Sasha ascertained directions to Countess Irena’s home from a footman standing on the back stairs leading out to the courtyard. Realising that she would not be deterred, the footman insisted on accompanying her, though it was only a few minutes’ walk away. They let themselves out of the postern gate and into the street, a bitter wind howling about the tall buildings, elegant columns and many windows gracing the front façades of the palaces belonging to wealthy noble Russian families.

  Countess Irena’s palace was painted a pale pistachio green and boasted several white marble columns at the front, and long gilded windows brightly lit even at this time of the morning. Sasha hesitated on the steps, and then impulsively reached out and tugged the bell-pull. After a few moments the door opened and a tall, thin man wearing a grey wig and ornate liveried uniform greeted her with an enquiring expression upon his face. She gave her name and with a polite wave of his hand she was ushered into an anteroom, where the servant spoke to her in French and asked her to wait.

  ‘You may go,’ Sasha spoke to the Embassy footman, with an apologetic smile. ‘I am sorry for keeping you from your duties. I will find my own way back.’

  ‘No fear,’ replied the young man quietly, who spoke in a broad London accent. ‘Old man Cronin’d have me guts for garters if’n I left a lady here on her tod.’ He squared his stout shoulders, stating firmly, ‘I’ll wait fer ya, ma’am.’

  ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Harry, ma’am.’

  ‘Well then, Harry, I thank you for your trouble.’

  She bit her lip as the servant returned and indicated that she should follow him. They crossed a hall lined with chequered marble and up a sweeping staircase of dark red carpet and ornate gilded balustrades that curved to the right and brought them to the first floor. For a moment she glanced down at the young footman as he waited on a chair in the hall below. She almost turned about and ran back, suddenly fearful of what was beyond the double doors they paused before. Then the servant opened one side and led her into a room quite unlike any place she had ever set foot in before.

  The long salon was very brightly lit and seemed to be full of people. Small groups sat on chairs and gilt sofas, talking animatedly, laughing. At the far end someone played a grand piano, while several others leaned upon its glossy white surface and chatted with apparent indifference to the music rippling forth. The atmosphere struck Sasha as being thriving, bright and intriguingly sophisticated.

  ‘Ah, my darling girl!’ cried Countess Irena, striding towards her with both hands outstretched. She grasped Sasha’s hands in hers and leaned down to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘How wonderful to see you! Come, let me introduce you to my friends. Would you like a glass of tea? Or wine?’

  Sasha declined both, her gaze noting the huge silver samovar that steamed on a linen-draped table, set with glass cups and trays of tiny sweet biscuits. On another table were several silver ice-buckets with bottles of champagne protruding from them and crystal glasses gleaming in orderly rows. Her mother’s cousin obviously enjoyed entertaining, but this was nothing like the quiet half-hour sipping tea while they exchanged pleasantries that Sasha had envisaged!

  Two hours later she begged her leave, guiltily aware that it was lunchtime and, despite her thoughts earlier of spending the day with Irena, she had stayed far longer than she should have. Her cheeks were flushed and she had enjoyed several interesting conversations and one heated debate with a variety of people, some of them impressive intellectuals and others simply charming and erudite. Of course, there had not been a private moment to discuss with her cousin the difficulties of her relationship with Reid, and in all honesty, she was not convinced that it would be at all appropriate. She decided to wait until she knew Irena a little better. After all, she could not totally ignore Lady Cronin’s warnings and she could not risk courting any more scandal than they already held at bay. She declined Irena’s invitation to stay for luncheon, but agreed that she would return again soon.

  At the door, as she donned her cloak she turned to Irena with a smile. ‘Thank you, it has been a wonderful time, and there have not been many of those lately.’

  A slight frown creased the beautiful Irena’s brow, and she purred softly, ‘We will soon remedy that, my darling little one. You will be made to feel welcome here, always, and of course, your husband, too. I would like to meet him next time.’

  Sasha hesitated, glancing away, wondering if now was the moment to ask for her help to escape from her ‘husband’, but instinctively she shrunk from the furore and shame of such an action. She was doomed, either way. Instead she demurely murmured, ‘He is very busy.’

  ‘But you are newly married. Surely he can spare time to spend with his new bride? I will send him a note, inviting you both to supper. It will be wonderful. Yes?’

  Sasha merely smiled and inclined her head, then she glanced at young Harry. ‘Let us be on our way.’

  They walked back quickly, heads bowed against the biting wind, hugging the walls and making themselves unobtrusive. Harry grasped her arm as a party of horsemen clattered past, and he muttered something about Cossacks, leaning protectively over her slight frame. They had not far to go and though they both sighed with relief when Harry hammered on the postern gate of the Residency courtyard, and they were admitted at once, Sasha felt no sense of gladness to be ‘home’. Climbing the stairs to her chamber, she was acutely aware of the silent and oppressive atmosphere of the household, strictly governed by a mistress who had no sense of gaiety, nor did she approve of the company of intellectuals, the so-called literati.

  Sasha sat down at the writing bureau in her bedchamber and unfastened her cloak, intending to write to her parents at once and inform her mother of her meeting with Irena, and assure her that they were both well and her mother was not to worry about her. She drew out a sheet of paper and then sat staring out of the windows at the River Neva with a dreamy expression, and going over in her mind the people and conversations and music she had enjoyed that morning. At one point someone had told a rather risqué joke; it had been puzzling to her and she had blushed profusely, expecting Irena to reprimand the young man who had dared to utter such sauciness in the presence of ladies, but instead she had thrown back her head and laughed. Sasha smiled now, realising that she had enjoyed the stimulating company, and also that Lady Cronin’s well-ordered drawing room was not the be-all and end-all of social circles.

  While she sat there wondering what she could and could not write to her mother, the door snapped open suddenly and Reid strode into the room. He came to a halt beside her, with a thunderous frown upon his face.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  With a little defiant tilt of her chin she looked up at him with raised brows. ‘I have been to visit my cousin, Countess Irena.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘No, Harry the footman escorted me.’

  ‘Who is this—this Countess Irena?’

  ‘She is my mother’s second cousin. Very beautiful, and very clever, and very rich.’

  Reid swung away and went to stand before the window, staring out. ‘And very Russian, no doubt.’ He frowned, as he pondered on the vaguely familiar name. ‘Do you mean Irena Sletovskaya?’

  ‘Why, yes.’ Sasha rose from her chair and went to stand beside him, an eager smile upon her face as she looked up enquiringly. ‘Do you know her?’

  He glanced down at her. ‘No, but I have heard her name mentioned. She is a whore. I forbid you to go to her house again.’

  ‘You have been listening to the malicious tongue of Lady Cronin!’ exclaimed Sasha, stung by a sudden spurt of shock and anger at his harsh words. She moved away from him. ‘It is nonsense and I will visit her whenever I wish! I had the most wonderful time with some very interesting peopl
e! Irena is going to send an invitation for us to sup with her. She wants to meet you.’

  She did not go far before Reid’s hand fastened on her upper arm and dragged her back. He pulled her up sharp against him, his voice very low as he spoke, his eyes holding hers as firmly as his hand held her arm. ‘It is not from Lady Cronin that I have heard talk, but from officers in the Russian Army. Do not disobey me, Sasha. You will not go to this Irena’s house again. It is for your own good.’

  ‘Is it?’ She glared at him, trying to shake free from his grasp. ‘Or is it for your good and the British Embassy? Will you not at least meet her, just the once, and make your own judgement?’

  He noticed her flushed cheeks, and the animated gleam in her eyes, and whilst he could understand the reasonableness of her request, his emotions, gradually being drawn closer and deeper towards her, were just as susceptible as her own and he felt a most unwelcome and unfamiliar stab of jealousy in his heart. ‘I see these “interesting people” have made quite an impression upon you. Was there anyone in particular?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A man, perhaps?’

  She tossed her head. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

  His glance fell to her mouth. ‘Be careful. You are innocent and naïve, Sasha, you have no idea what men are capable of.’ He let her go then, abruptly. ‘This afternoon we are to visit the Hope-Garners and bid them farewell. Our belongings will be moved over and tonight we will spend our first evening in our new apartment.’

  Sasha rubbed her arm and turned her back to him, staring in mutinous silence out of the window.

  ‘Sasha?’

  ‘I heard you.’

  ‘Then come with me now, it is time for luncheon.’

  ‘I am not hungry, and I must finish my letter to my parents. Let them know I’m all right.’

  ‘You can do that after lunch.’ With a sigh, he strode towards her, entwined his fingers intimately between the fingers of her left hand and pulled her with him to the door. ‘I said, it is time for luncheon. We will not be late, and we will not eat separately and cause comment.’

  As they moved down the staircase in apparent unison, Reid could not help but murmur softly by her ear, ‘At times you are very much like your sister, quite determined. If this Irena is so wonderful, then perhaps I’d better come along on one of your visits to see for myself.’

  Sasha stared straight ahead. ‘If you wish.’

  ‘She may be a whore, but I hear she is a very beautiful one.’

  She snapped her head about to glare at him. ‘Are you deliberately trying to pick a fight with me, Reid Bowen?’

  He laughed, noticing again the resemblance to Georgia as an angry flush coloured her neck and her dark eyes flashed at him, amused by the similar trait of high spirits and courage, yet he defused her anger immediately as other guests sauntered along the hallway. ‘No, sweetheart, of course not.’

  They reached the dining-room doors and were ushered to their seats, forcing a postponement of any further debate upon the merits of the controversial Countess Irena.

  Throughout luncheon the atmosphere felt unbearably false to Sasha’s mind, as Lady Cronin prattled on with forced brightness. She concentrated on the plates of food placed before her that she had no appetite for, but at least it was a diversion. Once she glared at Reid and almost choked as he pinched her thigh, forcing her to pay attention to Lady Cronin and answer her question about whether she would like to take the maid Jane with her to their apartment. Realising that some effort was being made to cast oil upon the ruffled waters between them, Sasha smiled and accepted the offer with a few polite words of thanks. Apparently they were also to have a cook, a butler and a footman, and Sasha listened to Lady Cronin’s expectations of how she would entertain guests of the military attaché, the subtle implication being that she would hold dinner parties and receive morning callers whether she liked it or not.

  From the corner of his eye Reid glanced at his ‘wife’, and realised that Sasha was of course no schoolroom chit to be ordered about, but a grown-up young woman very much in possession of her own mind. He noted the pursing of her lips and the arched quirk to her brows as Lady Cronin all but laid down the law, and he resolved there and then to extricate Sasha from what had become an impossible situation. Apart from the fact that she would be required to play hostess as his wife—difficult enough considering that she was not his wife at all—it was becoming harder and harder to resist the intimacies of their shared bed. His yearning for physical pleasure with her became more intense as each day passed, and he had two obvious choices—he could either pack Sasha on to the next mail boat back to England, and have done with the whole affair, or he could marry her and they could begin to explore their relationship as a husband and wife should, both physically and emotionally.

  He turned to Charlotte, sat next to him, and asked carefully and with great politeness, ‘Ma’am, would you happen to know whether there are any Anglican church services available to us?’ At his elbow he heard Sasha’s swift intake of breath and her spoon clatter into her glass dish of mint sorbet.

  Charlotte dabbed a napkin to her mouth, and smiled shyly at him. ‘Why, yes, of course. There is a minister, a Reverend Jones, who holds Sunday services at his house. But I do believe he is away for two weeks, visiting friends in Moscow.’

  ‘Ah…’ Reid sighed. ‘What a shame.’

  Lady Cronin leaned forwards, catching the tail end of their conversation. ‘He’s Welsh, but a fine enough fellow. I could invite him to lunch when he returns and then you can both meet him.’ She peered at Reid across the table and frowned. Major Bowen had not made the impression upon her of being a particularly religious sort, but she made no further comment.

  That afternoon they all dutifully traipsed down to the harbour and waved goodbye to the Hope-Garners. Sasha was sad to bid farewell to Charlotte, who had been kind to her, if somewhat distracted by her many children and tasks involved with returning to England. They kissed each other goodbye and promised to write and keep each other informed of their new lives. She gave Charlotte a letter to be passed on to her parents, her guilt somewhat assuaged that soon her parents would receive news that all was well with her. Then Reid ushered her to a carriage and they set off for their new apartment.

  It was situated in a grand building in a street behind the Residency. It had no view of the river, but overlooked the courtyard of the Residency from its rear windows, and the street from the front. Sasha was pleased to note that it had its own entrance, and a short yet elegant staircase rose from the hallway to the first-floor landing and the main salon, dining room, breakfast room and a study. On the floor above there were four bedrooms, two spacious bathrooms and a dressing room. Sasha made no comment when she discovered that her suitcases and trunk had been placed in a room opposite to one occupied by Reid’s belongings, and though she felt relief that she would at last have her own room, there was a vague sense of disappointment, too. She wondered if Reid had given the order, or if the servants had naturally assumed the common custom that husband and wife would wish to occupy separate bedrooms.

  The rooms were furnished in a more sombre style than that of the opulent luxury of the Residency, yet Sasha found there was some charm to the dark, heavy furniture, a solid old-fashioned sense of comfort with the large sofas and curved tables, the imposing sleigh beds and the heavy swags of brocade curtains that seemed so typical in Russia to dress the huge windows. There was little in the way of ornaments, which Sasha knew to be because of the Hope-Garners’ many children, the presence of their boisterous little spirits lingering still.

  That evening, after a quiet supper with Reid, she bade him good-night and retired to a hot bath and her solitary bed. She lay awake for a long while, listening for when at last Reid left his study and came upstairs. His door closed and she could hear nothing more. How she longed to lie in his arms again! Yet now they had assumed the correct proprieties, and she had no idea how to make her ‘husband’ fall in love with h
er.

  Chapter Eight

  Over tea and toast the next morning, at a round table in the cosy breakfast room, Reid made it clear that he would be out all day as he took up the reins for the first time in his sole capacity as military attaché.

  ‘What will you do?’ he asked, as he thanked Jane with a smile for the plate of scrambled egg and fried tomato that she placed before him. He picked up his knife and fork, then glanced keenly across the table. ‘Sasha?’

  She looked up from idly stirring sugar into her cup of tea, and shrugged. She felt out of sorts this morning, but could not really fathom why.

  Reid ate quickly, mindful of the time, but he paused as he looked at her pale face and the shadows beneath her eyes. ‘Did you sleep all right? Was the bed comfortable enough?’

  Sasha smiled softly, a wistful look in her eyes. ‘The bed was very comfortable, thank you. But it is a strange new house and I suppose I must get used to it.’ It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she had missed sleeping with him beside her.

  Reid rose to his feet, folded his napkin and laid it on the table. ‘I will have luncheon at the Embassy, so I will not see you until this evening.’ He bent and kissed her forehead. He, too, resisted the temptation to tell her that he had missed sleeping with her lying beside him.

  They went their separate ways.

  Later that morning Sasha rang for the footman and he accompanied her to Countess Irena’s, the walk taking only a minute or two as the apartment was situated closer than to the Residency. She was greeted warmly, as before, and she passed several pleasant hours chatting and listening to music. At Irena’s insistence she promised that she would soon bring Reid to visit her. Yet she did not dare to broach the subject with him, somehow sensing that it would create discord and in these weeks whilst they waited for the Reverend Jones to return and marry them, legally and with honour, she did not want to spoil the few moments she had with Reid.